


House And Home

by LipstickVenom



Series: From Then To Here [2]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Fluff without Plot, Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29995266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LipstickVenom/pseuds/LipstickVenom
Summary: “ Hermes chuckled at that “Oh, I don't doubt that at all my dearest professional associate but I think just standing around out there would become boring rather quickly, I already mentioned that the old family in the lounge won’t be done anytime soon, so why not do something more interesting for a while, I mean, you don't have to stand vigil at your boat atalltimes.” ”Small epilogue to ‘From Then To Here’. Can also be read as a stand alone though.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Series: From Then To Here [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206431
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	House And Home

“Money is a mortal concept.”

The sudden and rather unexpected words nearly made Charon stop rowing – thankfully his muscle memory took over, making sure that even if his mind had just had to catch a rather severe curve-ball his arms still moved in that fluid clock-work manner of his, propelling his ferry forward.

His glowing will-o’-wisp of an eye moved from his left socket – watching the distance between the ferry and the grassy edges of Elysium – to his right – now fixing on one of the goddesses currently sitting in his ferry. Athena looked back up at him with that calm expression of hers, steely blue eyes fixed on him, sparking with something close to determination.

This was the third time now that he rowed this specific path, his ferry full with the Olympians that Queen Persephone had invited – even if non of them knew about that particular tidbit just yet. Non of the other ones he had taken down the rivers had tried to talk to him so far – of course not, it probably seemed senseless to them – so Athena’s sudden attention seemed more than just a little odd.

If Charon could blink in befuddlement he probably would have done so in that very second. For a few long moments he stared mutely at the goddess in front of him as his mind turned her single sentence around and around. 

After all, how was he supposed to react to such statement? Was he supposed to react at all? His ever-billowing glittering mist stuttered for a moment – showing his confusion… not that Athena would be able to pick up on it.

Charon was aware of the fact that money was a purely mortal concept. That it was nothing but an ‘idea’ at the end of the day – and an arbitrary one to boot. The sparkling coins only had a value because humans liked glittering things and therefore ascribed value to them – same as children would ascribe value to an especially smooth, shiny rock. They used it as nothing more than a shorthand to make trading easier – it was, after all, simpler and, frankly, also smarter to just reach over a handful of coins in exchange for a loaf of bread than try and trade, for example, 1/21 of a cow for it.

Was it a philosophical statement then? Did Athena want to start a conversation about mortals and their habits of ascribing value to arbitrary concepts? Or about concepts on a whole? Like language for example? But even if that was her end goal… why try and start a discussion like that with Charon of all people, when it was so very obvious that he couldn't answer her in any understandable way. 

Had she just thought out loud, like some people were prone to? Giving words to her thoughts, spelling them out to make them ‘real’ and ‘tangible’? But if that was the case why was she looking up at him so expectantly, as if she expected an actual retort?

If Charon had brows he might have furrowed them. He could honestly say that he was at a loss right now.

“Oh, leave the bore be.” Aphrodite suddenly quipped up in that sing-song cadence of hers, waving her hand in the air as if batting something annoying away “You’re wasting your time with that one and you know it.”

The indirect – or maybe rather direct – implication that Charon wasn't able to chip in on an actual, intelligent conversation normally would have made the chthonic ferryman bristle – Olympians and their arrogance…

… Yet, at the same time, he also had to grudgingly agree with Aphrodite, after all, Athena couldn't even understand his words, so any try at a dialogue was, indeed, a waste of time for both of them. It would be nothing but a farce.

Athena turned her head, her gaze swinging from Charon to the goddess beside her “I, for one, think that it is important to have something that is _**actually worth**_ pursuing in ones life – a purpose. While wealth can be comforting it shouldn't be ones entire purpose in life.”

“Oh? And of course you are the expert there? You obviously know what is worth pursuing and what is not and everyone who has a different opinion is simply a poor lost lamb that you have to lead onto the right path. How very gracious of you.” Aphrodite snipped back, rolling her eyes.

“Now, now.” surprisingly it was Hermes who spoke up next “He is the only merchant for the shades down here, _**mortal shades**_ if I might specify, and those shades don't know anything but gold and coin, you said it yourself, it’s a _**mortal concept**_ , so it makes sense that they would trade with coin even after death, ergo, it also makes sense that our good guide here would find interest in that practice as well.” the god of coin and commerce reasoned; unexpectedly – or maybe rather expectedly – taking Charon's side in this weird debate that Charon couldn't even truly weigh in on thanks to the obvious language barrier.

Athena’s mouth curled slightly “I see your point there noble brother, but don't you think this is going too far? Everything should be done in moderation – temperance if you will.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me about it.” Artemis mumbled, her low timbre full of sarcasm. It was drowned out all too soon by another voice.

“I don't think you can ever have too much of a good thing.” Dionysus threw in, his words a loud drawl.

“Of course.” Athena’s voice sounded both annoyed as well as exhausted – as if she had had that same conversation countless times before and was by now utterly done with it.

“Come now, children.” this time it was Zeus who spoke up, his voice half soothing, half irritated “There is no need to fight over something silly like that, especially if it concerns the boatman here. Trying to reason with him is wasted time, you all know that.”

A huge plume of smoke rose as Charon let out a scoffing sound in direct response to Zeus’ words – not that anyone would be able to pick up on it. A murmur of agreement could be heard as everyone seemed to deflate again, here or there someone nodded their head and just like that the issue was dropped again. 

… Though at the back of the ferry – seated closest to where Charon stood at his designated spot – Hermes shifted stiffly. His mouth suddenly twisted a little, lips curling and then pressing tightly together as if he was fighting with himself not to blurt out something he would regret later down the line. The two golden wings sprouting from his head fluttered and beat in aggravation, once, then twice – like an angry raptor ready to dive into an attack. 

Charon let out another huge puff of smoke at that observation – this time less angry and more fondly irritated. Gods and their wounded pride when someone insulted something they cared about, he thought, mentally shaking his head to himself. Hermes’ obvious scorn at Zeus’ comment was sweet, truly, but ultimately senseless – his protectiveness charming yet completely unneeded.

“ _Do not fret on my account._ ” Charon finally spoke up, words nothing more than a string of low groans in different cadences and with different vowel-lengths – safe in the knowledge that no one understood his words as such – with the small exception of Hermes. 

His voice made Hermes look up, brown eyes fixing on Charon. A few puffs of glittering smoke rose, betraying Charon's amusement to Hermes and Hermes only “ _In fact,_ ” the Stygian Boatman went on “ _I find I have to agree with him, as I too think that an intelligent discussion would be a waste of time. One can not reason with the unreasonable after all._ ”

Hermes huffed out a quiet snort at that, his wings finally calming, tucking themselves against the side of his head again. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his seat – comfortably lounging in Charon's ferry – a stark contrast to the rest of his tense kin. His head tipped back, looking up at the ceiling before he let out another huff of air “Still.” he insisted though his voice was nothing more than a soft mumble – nearly completely drowned out below the chatter of the other gods on the ferry; only meant for Charon's ears.

Charon gave a low, agreeable groan at that. He wouldn't lie, the casual and callous dismissiveness of the Olympians towards his own person made anger flare hot in his chest. There they sat, arrogant as could be, in _**his**_ ferry, dependent on _**his**_ good will to reach their destination and yet they turned their noses up at him in such a smugly superior way, blatantly insinuating that Charon was unable to form any kind of meaningful thought.

Charon was older than any of them – one of the oldest of mother Nyx’s children, sired by father Erebus along with his brother Aether and his sister Hemera. He was linked to this place, intertwined with it, an essential knot in a weave – darkness gathering around him easily and eagerly, courtesy of his birthright, and the rivers of the underworld heeding his call faithfully just as Charon heeded theirs; four spouses always willing to aid their most beloved.

He was a god, aeons old, with incredible power thrumming through his body – and yet the Olympians seated in his ferry regarded him as nothing more than a husk. A dull creature only enticed by the shine of gold. Barely a step above a shade. Not even able to be talked to or reasoned with.

Oh, the absolute gall of them!

… And yet, Charon had accepted a long time ago that most Olympians simply acted like that – like spoiled, rude and ungrateful children. As if they were the pinnacle that everything else should revolve around – feeling as if every chthonic god was beneath them because they sat on a mountain and Charon's own kin lived under the earth.

What a base understanding of might, Charon thought. Just because something was higher up did not mean it was also more superior. Was a sparrow more powerful than a lion because it was in the sky and the lion on the ground? How ridiculous, Charon thought, a few plumes of smoke rising, showing his pitying amusement. It was a child’s understanding of power, truly.

In the end they finally reached their destination and he just mutely lifted his oar from Styx’s waters, gently laying it against the stone of Tartarus to smoothly halt his ferry. It barely took a moment before everyone spilled out of the boat, like an excited rabble – uncaring about the balance of the ferry.

Charon simply pressed his oar against the stone a little harder – putting some strength behind it to keep the ferry steady – a long-suffering hiss left his throat along with a thick cloud of chthonic mist. The noise caught Aphrodite’s attention and she wrinkled her nose at him – obviously put off by it.

He watched as they moved towards the entrance of the house, excitedly talking among themselves, their voices washing over and around each other – What do you think he wants to do; the letter pieces were a rather strange puzzle; he never invited us before, think something happened…

Charon's glowing will-o’-wisp was fixed on them and with every step they took towards the house something icy twisted in Charon's chest, tighter and tighter. It was a strange amalgamation of emotions that congealed into a heavy ball – sinking and settling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. Around him Styx shuddered slightly, her many hands brushing against the wood of his ferry, trying to reach for him, a wife hoping to sooth her husband’s unease.

Charon dearly hoped that whatever Queen Persephone was planning would be enough. He knew that the Queen was shrewd and had a way with words that could shame any philosopher… and yet Charon worried that clever words and sensible explanations might be lost on those who never considered peace an option – a bloodthirsty mob wouldn't be soothed by anything but violence.

“It’ll work out, you’ll see.” Hermes said, still lounging in the ferry, hands by now crossed behind his head as if he was lying on a chaise up on Olympus instead of sitting on the bench of a boat. The god of swiftness, paradoxically, seemed in no hurry at all to rise and leave.

But maybe that wasn't too strange, considering that he already knew what was to come. For Hermes non of this had ever been a surprise – he had been pulling his own strings in all of this, and for him all that was currently happening must feel like a long-awaited victory, the fruition of a careful, if maybe slightly utopian, plan.

Charon let his oar dip back into Styx’s red waters, both hands grasping idly at the hilt “ _I hope you are right, my friend. I truly do._ ”

“You worry too much.” Hermes’ voice was quippy and easy-going. His six wings beat as he finally lifted himself up in the air, but instead of following his kin he started to circle around Charon in that by now so familiar and playful way of his.

“ _Maybe I do._ ” Charon gave back idly, thoughtfully “ _Or maybe it is you who does not worry enough._ ” he added slowly in that same idly contemplative voice, his glowing eye fixing on the other god.

“Well,” Hermes said, shrugging his shoulders in a flippant way as if non of this was his business – not that he was convincing anyone with his act. Charon could read the line of his mouth and the coil of his shoulders like a book – it was obvious that Hermes was nervous too. 

Still, Charon didn't comment – he knew that Hermes often hid his more vulnerable side behind snarky words and easy-going smiles; desperately trying to appear aggressively non-caring in an effort to conceal how much he actually _**did**_ care. So if this was what Hermes needed to deal with the situation right now then Charon would play along.

Hermes was still circling tightly, elbows and wings and legs brushing Charon's many layers of robes – making the out-most gold-edged black material swing in the air like a dark shroud in a soft breeze “We’ll find out which one of us was right soon enough – hopefully it’s me though, you know how I love to be right.” the god of swiftness said. There was a beat of pause and then “Want to place a bet?” the words were accompanied by a mischievous grin that suddenly stretched over Hermes’ face.

Charon let out thick plume of smoke at that and lifted his oar up out of the water again so he could half-heartedly swing at the other god. Very unsurprisingly indeed the god of swiftness dodged the lacklustre attempt at a hit easily, snickering all the while “Don’t tell me you’re still sore about the last bet you lost.”

Again Charon swung his oar – a wider, slightly faster arch this time, yet it still lacked any type of real fire – and again Hermes dodged, laughing all the while “I won fair and square and it’s your own fault my dearest professional associate, don't think I’ll take pity on you here, after all, we both know you could have whipped the floor with my dear cousin, you just went easy on him because underneath all that growling you’re a big softy.”

Charon gave a low growl at that, a thick cloud of glittering mist puffing up – if he would have been able to slit his eye he would have done so. Yes, it was true, they both knew it – he had gone very easy on Zagreus, moving deliberately slow, leaving Styx out of their little competition, only using a fraction of his actual brute force when swinging his oar… and yet that didn't mean that Hermes had to shine a spotlight on those facts. 

It was simply unbecoming.

With a very quick, counter-clockwise swing Charon moved his oar so that it was right in Hermes’ flight path – and, as expected – the god of swiftness was too fast to stop in time and so he collided forehead first with the wooden hilt.

Hermes’ wings flapped loudly as he ‘staggered’ back, one hand raising to cover the place where his head had just gotten acquainted with Charon's oar “Ow.” the god of swiftness said, though his voice was trembling with barely concealed amusement “That is no way to treat your associates, is it now?” he tutted, his mouth twitching at the corners. His brown eyes fixed on Charon – they were sparking with mirth.

Charon just let out a playfully angry groan and raised his left arm again – a deliberate, slow movement that Hermes would have had no problem dodging; if he had actually wanted to – and, with infinite gentleness, Charon knocked the hilt of his oar against Hermes’ forehead again.

“Kicking a person when they are down too?” the god of swiftness lamented, one hand pressing over his heart as if he was mortally wounded “My, what a fiend you are!” he only managed to stay serious for a few more seconds before he burst out laughing. He drew a few more playful circles around Charon's form, warm fingers brushing against expensive black cloth – making Charon's robes flutter again – as if he couldn't help himself, as if it was unconscious by now.

“Well, I would love to stick around a little longer but I assume my slow-poke family is finally getting to the interesting bits and I wouldn't want to miss out on that, I'm sure you understand.” Hermes explained before he flew a little higher. 

His face was shadowed by the wide brim of Charon's hat as he cocked his head to the side a little, warm lips landing on the void-black skin stretching tightly over Charon's cheekbone “For good luck.” the god of swiftness chuckled as he drew back and then, in a flash of gold and orange, he was gone – zipping into the house too.

Charon looked after him for a few long moments. He let out a soft breath, a curtain of purple mist accompanying it. His shoulders sank a little as his single, glowing eye roamed over the outer wall of the house – ‘for good luck’, it echoed in his mind… well, they truly needed all the luck they could get right now, didn't they?

Another, nearly opaque cloud of stardust smoke puffed up from the edges of his mouth as he resolved himself to wait and see. It was out of their hands now, nothing left to do but hope. The wait was draining and nerve-wracking, curtains and curtains of glittering purple billowed upwards, betraying Charon's nervousness to no one but his faithful wife.

Styx’s many, many hands still rubbed over the wood of the ferry, her water sloshing gently against the boat, rocking it like a mother might rock a child in a cradle, her lapping waters drumming a soft lullaby against the stone of Tartarus.

Finally Charon's glowing eye moved, trailing from the left socket – watching the house in apprehension – to the right – trailing over Styx’s endless, red waves. Something in Charon's chest mellowed as he let himself be comforted by her. He stepped from his elevated perch – at the helm of the ferry – down to the rows of benches where his passengers usually sat.

The wood creaked under his steps, familiar sounds, each plank having its own cadence, an own voice. He gathered his robes as best as he could so they wouldn't snare or tangle around his feet and then sat down on the bench that was smack in the middle of the boat, scooting until he was right at the edge of the ferry – his oar resting harmlessly over his legs.

He stretched his right hand out, towards the water and one of Styx’s many hands moved towards him. She gently flattened her palm against his, stretching her fingers out along his – her fingers were fuller, not quite as bony as Charon's own, yet they were also a little shorter.

Styx moved her hand, just the slightest adjustment to the side and with a soft push she intertwined her fingers with Charon's – holding his hand properly.

If Charon could have smiled he would have, not that it mattered that he couldn't express his emotions with his face – not with Styx. He knew that Styx felt his contentment at the situation, his gratitude for her presence just in the same way that he felt Styx’s chime in his chest and at the back of his mind – how pleased she was that she was able to comfort him, that she could hold him up when he needed it and that he allowed her to do it.

A thin trail of smoke trickled from the edge of his mouth upwards as he let out a sweet coo-like noise “ _Thank you._ ” he said, voice thick and Styx’s hand pulled at him in answer. More hands closed in, curling gently around his wrist and lower arm, wetting his robes and skin “ _My darling wife._ ”

‘ _ **Husband**_ ’ – it echoed in Charon's mind, Styx’s low timbre smooth and warm in the way it only was when she spoke to him. She was always so eager to froth up, always ready to splash over the stone of Tartarus and drown anything in her path. She was fierce and her temper flared quick and bright just like Charon's own tended to do… and yet, when they sat together like this it was easy for both of them to reach a point of calm serenity that, most of the time, tended to elude them both.

And so he remained and waited – hand in hand with his wife, letting her sooth the growing, ice-burn hot dread in the pit of his stomach as best as she could. Everything was quiet and Charon wasn't sure if he should be relived or worried because of that – was the silence a good sign, or was it the calm before the storm broke loose? His left hand clenched and unclenched around the hilt of his oar – half expecting a call to arm any moment from now.

He didn't know how long he sat, listening to Styx’s sweet humming, his mind spiralling, trying to ignore the bad thoughts yet always drawn back to them anyway…

…

“Hey, Charon, mate!” the sudden shout actually managed to startle him, his left hand instinctively clamping around the hilt of his oar resting over his knees, his right hand hastily pulling out of Styx’s gentle hold.

Red water sloshed up around his ferry, splashing up and onto the stone of Tartarus – showing Styx’s clear agitation, her readiness to raise up if it was needed. Charon's head snapped up and he let out a hiss that sounded far more wrath-filled and volatile than he had originally intended – a huge plume of smoke accompanied the noise. 

On the far side of the path Zagreus was poking his head out of the gate leading into Queen Persephone’s garden. He raised two hands in a sign of surrender – clearly surprised by Charon's unexpectedly violent reaction.

“Sorry mate, didn't want to startle you.” Zagreus sounded actually regretful – it was unnecessary, he had done nothing wrong… and yet he was always so quick to apologize and take the blame onto his own shoulders.

Charon shook his head as he rose from the bench of his ferry – giving a softer set of groans meant to reassure and calm as he started explaining himself… but his words trailed off when he remembered that Zagreus didn't understand him, at least not truly. He never really had, Charon thought a little ruefully. 

While Zagreus had been growing up they had met so seldomly, since Charon made a point of not stepping one foot in the house and Zagreus had left only when Hypnos had dragged him along to their met-ups. And so Zagreus had never really gotten the hang of Charon's words and language. And once he had been grown up and Hypnos had no longer taken him along he had forgotten what little he had known. To Zagreus Charon's words were just noise at this point.

… At least he was able to read Charon's body language to some extend – a bitter consolation price.

And so Charon bowed his towering from a little – showing that he wasn't angry at all – before he rose up into a float, bridging the small distance between his ferry and the stone of Tartarus. He lowered himself again, feet once more touching the ground, his oar held loosely in his left hand, pointing towards the ground, head still slightly ducked – he was as harmless as he ever could be.

A second passed and then Zagreus drew closer, his mismatched eyes were twinkling, a grin stretched his mouth and Charon let out an inquisitive groan, cocking his head a little – showing his curiosity as much as he could even with his impassive face and the language barrier making all of this harder than it could have been.

“We’re having a party.” Zagreus said. A heartbeat passed in stillness as the words and their deeper meaning registered and then Charon let out a huge plume of smoke – betraying his clear relive. A party? That meant everything had worked out, didn't it? No fighting, no war between Olympus and the underworld. A heavy weight seemed to lift from Charon's shoulders and for a moment he wished he could close his eye to properly indulge in the feeling.

Whatever tale Queen Persephone had spun it had worked – thank all the rivers in the underworld, it had actually worked!

“You’re _**explicitly**_ invited too.” Zagreus went on and it made Charon halt. If he could squint he probably would have done so… Still, Zagreus expression was open and happy and relieved and it was obvious that his words were no joke or mean-spirited jab.

For a second Charon's burning will-o’-wisp of an eye moved from his left socket – watching Zagreus – to his right – taking in the outer wall of the house nearly hesitantly – before it moved back to the left again, settling once again on the small god in front of him.

He let out a questioning noise, alongside a sheer curtain of smoke. He wasn't too sure if stepping into the house and joining a party that mostly consisted of Olympians was such a good idea. Charon was rather sure his presence would disgruntle most of the guests, beside, with the small exception of his mother, his two brothers and Hermes no one even understood what he was saying.

… And, if Charon was completely honest with himself, he wasn't even sure if _**he himself**_ wanted to enter the house at all. He had been gone for so long that the thought of entering the house again suddenly seemed strange to him.

Zagreus grabbed at his free right hand, pulling to get him to move – not that it was any help, Charon was very hard to move indeed when he didn't want to be “Mother won’t hear a no for an answer, she said I should fetch you no matter what.”

A puff of glittering smoke rose – betraying amusement. That sounded like Queen Persephone alright, Charon thought, a little wryly. Well, if the Queen herself ordered it then he couldn't really say no, could he? 

And so, albeit a little reluctant, he finally let himself be dragged along. Once it became clear that he wouldn't protest Zagreus let go of his wrist again and together they crossed the distance to the garden entrance. 

It felt odd, Charon thought, his right foot landing on the first step of the stairs leading up to the garden. He hadn't walked these stairs since his altercation with Lord Hades – how long ago had that been? A handful of centuries at the very least – time sometimes got fuzzy for immortals. In any case, it had been a long, long time indeed and now Charon felt as if he was encroaching.

He had never quite felt like he belonged here, boxed in by sturdy stone, Styx only visible from the balcony, her lapping so quiet it could nearly be ignored, her presence distant. Even as a young god he had always felt uncomfortable, like a misplaced piece.

But that was fine – Charon had always been the odd one out. He simply belonged on his ferry, rowing over his rivers, and when he wasn't doing that he belonged in misty Erebus, his father’s realm, where the darkness lingered like a thick blanket – probably stiflingly so for others but to Charon it felt reassuring.

They climbed the remaining stairs, crossing through the garden, over the threshold – entering the house proper… and Charon couldn't help himself but let his gaze wander as a feeling of pleasant surprise washed through him. Well, the house certainly felt homely now that he was walking through it again, it was warm – maybe warmer than it had ever been – the garden was blooming again and the halls were redecorated with new drapes and mosaics and flowers and candles…

After all this time the house had finally become a true home, a place for a family. 

And yet, despite that realization, Charon felt like an intruder in his mother’s house – which was fine as well. It seemed the house had finally completely rejected him – in the same way Charon had already rejected it aeons ago. Charon, after all, had long since shrugged the last pretences off like an ill-fitting robe, like a snake shedding a too-tight skin. 

Now this warmer, redecorated house could be a home for someone else. Charon's single glowing eye moved from his right socket to his left, fixing on Zagreus in front of him. 

That had been his plan, hadn't it? And seemingly the plan had worked out in the end. Charon could honestly say that he was glad.

Zagreus finally ushered him into the lounge where the Olympians that Charon had rowed down not too long ago sat – most of them crowded around Queen Persephone, talking animatedly, seemingly asking a whole litany of questions; Demeter was hovering closely at her side, one slightly aged hand curling around her daughters, holding fast as if she still couldn't believe that they were finally reunited.

Charon's eye flickered from his left sockets to his right – averting his gaze – this too felt like something that wasn't really for him. At the end of the day it might have been his victory but it also wasn't – he had won but not for himself.

How selfless, he thought wryly amused. He huffed out a huge plume of smoke – he had changed a lot too, hadn't he? 

Before his brothers Sleep and Death had been born he wouldn't have raised a single finger to help anyone in his family, with the small exception of his mother and father… and maybe Philotes if he had felt indulgent. Family had been nothing but a hassle to him, an annoyance that he couldn't stand and to this very day he could honestly say that he missed the presence of exactly non of his many wayward siblings and half-siblings. 

And yet, just look where he stood now. He didn't know when it had happened exactly – change, after all, was always such a gradual and subtle thing, one rarely noticed it until one had already opened another chapter of ones life – but he had come to care more about this house and the people currently living in it than he would have ever thought possible.

Charon's head moved slightly, glowing eye finally landing on his own mother – the starshine caught in her night black hair easy to pick out among all the Olympians and their bright daytime colours. And for a moment he wondered… he knew by now that mother Nyx had sought him out to make sure Death himself wouldn't grow into a harsh god like so many of his siblings and half-siblings before him had…

But maybe it hadn't just been about Thanatos – maybe mother Nyx had wanted to change Charon too, or maybe she had wanted to change their whole family, maybe it had been about redemption, or a new start, reconciliation… or maybe not, maybe this had been a grand plan, or maybe it had just been an accident… maybe it had been his sister Fates who had literally twisted some threads for whatever reasons that were their own – had they laid the groundwork for all that had happened? 

But, Charon thought as he let his gaze slip away from his mother again, did any of that really matter at this point? Was the why and how important? No, no it really wasn't. At least not truly. It was a curiosity, yes, something to idly mull over, something that would be nice to know at some point or another; but it wasn't vital.

“Oh wow, I never thought I’d see you in the house again.” a familiar voice suddenly quipped up beside Charon and the Stygian Boatman turned his head slightly so his eye could fix on his younger brother – Hypnos was smiling at him, a goblet of what Charon presumed was ambrosia in his hand.

“ _I was explicitly invited by the Queen herself._ ” he explained.

Hypnos gave a small snicker “Of course. Why am I not surprised that she’s the one to finally get through your thick skull?”

Charon huffed out a rather large plume of smoke, swinging his oar – he never really put it down except for when he was in his private chambers in Erebus – lazily in his brother’s direction. Hypnos dodged without any trouble, his broad grin softening around the edges.

“You can be terribly stubborn when you want to be.”

Another plume of smoke as Charon lowered his left arm again – oar pointing harmlessly downwards – and as if that had been a verbal permission Hypnos’ sleep-warm hands landed on Charon's shoulders in that unconsciously clingy way that his younger brother had never grown out of. 

It was true, Charon could be hard-headed when he truly wanted to be. He was aware of that fact. His ‘ego’ – as Queen Persephone had once called it – too big to simply forgive what he deemed as a deliberate insult towards his own person.

“ _I do not intend to stay long and I do not intend to come back here after this gathering is done either. At least not unless Lord Hades himself finally apologizes for his slight towards me. Still, I am not so ill-mannered that I would ruin the Queen’s plans just to be difficult._ ”

“You’ll be waiting a long time then. You know Lord Hades.”

“ _We are gods dear brother, we have nothing but time, and I am a very patient man._ ”

His response made Hypnos snicker again “Patient and stubborn. The worst kind of combination.”

A thick cloud of glittering smoke rose – signalling the fond annoyance only an older brother could relate to “ _I see you are in a good mood._ ” he pointed out. It was an easy observation to make, the happier Hypnos was the more teasing did his words become. He meant no harm with it and all he said was in good-humour; Charon knew.

“ ‘Course I am.” Hypnos quipped back in that easy-going way of his “Look around you, I’d certainly say that a party is better than a war. Everything went swimmingly, Queen Persephone spun some wild yarn and everyone was more than happy to just swallow it hook, line and sinker. Guess most of them were sick of fighting too.”

Charon let out a thoughtful noise at that. The Olympians? Sick of their own spite-fuelled infighting? He never thought he would actually see the day. Still, what was it mortals always said about gift horses? Better not question it.

“Here.” Hypnos suddenly spoke up and without any further warning he shoved his goblet into Charon's free right hand “Try and have a little fun too. It won’t kill you.” he laughed “I for one am having a lot of fun. I actually struck up a nice conversation before you came along.”

A hum and a plume of smoke “ _Do not let me keep you then._ ”

“You sure?”

Charon huffed out an amused sound, his left hand loosening from his oar which remained floating faithfully at his side. He raised his newly freed up hand and stroked it through Hypnos’ cloudy hair “ _I am._ ”

Hypnos’ hands fell from his shoulders at that “Okay then, but if you change your mind you can come join us, no problem.”

Charon inclined his head at that and let his hand fall from his brother’s hair again, his long, bony fingers wrapping back around his oar. Hypnos lingered for a second or two more before he nodded too and then floated off – returning to wherever he had come from.

For a few short moments Charon looked after his brother before he lowered his head to look at the goblet in his hand. He moved his wrist a little, circling gently to swish the golden liquid around a bit. It was ambrosia all right. His chest heaved in a silent sigh that only puffed out a mute cloud of smoke – it had been a nice gesture of his brother but Charon certainly didn't feel like drinking in this kind of company.

He had to tip his head back farther than most, making sure he could swallow quickly so nothing would accidentally spill, what with his skull like, lipless face. He had no problem doing the familiar head tilts with his family or even Hermes around but he would rather not do anything that might make the Olympians look at him even more strangely than they already were – after all, Charon only had so much patience for stupidity, and, as already mentioned, he did not want to ruin the Queen’s big day, least of all by losing his temper because of her ill-mannered kin.

He swirled the ambrosia absent-mindedly in its goblet, his will-o’-wisp of an eye moving from one socket to the other as he let his gaze trail over the room. Slowly his feet left the ground as he rose into an unconscious float – it always happened when he remained stationary for too long.

The talking got louder as the wine and nectar and ambrosia continued to flow and finally Charon thought that he had remained long enough to appear polite. He sank to the ground again, walking around one of the tables – placing his untouched goblet of ambrosia unnoticed beside Dionysus; at least that way Charon was sure it wouldn't go to waste.

He rounded the table, walking back on the other side, making his way towards the open door of the lounge. As he left – leaving the chatter behind him – his eye – currently resting in his left socket – was caught by the glitter of silver.

He turned his head slightly, noticing the silver-edged mirror visible on the far side of the hall for the first time. That one was new, he noticed nearly idly, again realizing how much had changed since he last had stepped foot into the house. 

He stood there for a second, his head tilted slightly… he wondered what else might be new.

And so, instead of turning right to return to his boat and wait however long he had to until he had to take the – probably by then drunken or hung-over – rabble up again he turned left. He was trailing through the hall like a shrouded spectre. 

The mosaic in front of Lord Hades’ looming table was new too. His head turned as he came to a stop in front of the newest floor decoration, gaze trailing down the hall to where Styx’s small pool lay. A few puffs of smoke rose, showing amusement.

Were those replicas of the vases he had in his own private space? He moved down the hallway until he drew to a stop in front of the golden statures. Yes, those were indeed replicas of his vases. Zagreus must have commissioned them, that really was the only explanation. Again a few plumes of smoke rose as Charon chuckled in his own unique way.

A few moments passed as he took in the surprisingly accurate replication before a soft chime made him turn to the pool – Styx’s voice reaching for him. He answered the call without really thinking about it, walking towards the steps at the edge. He took four downwards, now standing ankle-deep in her red waters, the gold-edged hem of his robes floating on the surface, soaking in the water before sinking below the water. Charon didn't mind.

The pool did not house any of Styx’s many hands but Charon still felt her currents, the water sloshing around his feet like a caress. Standing in the pool like this brought back a few old memories, from aeons back when he could still have been considered young – at least by godly standards.

The house had been full of the screaming and shouting of his many siblings back then. Charon hadn't had his own space in Erebus back then either and so he had searched for calm wherever he could – most often right here, with his feet in Styx’s waters and her voice humming sweetly in his mind.

He didn't know how long he just stood there, Styx and he enjoying a calm moment together, the only noise the muffled, distance-diluted music from the lounge when-

“There you are, wondered if you had ran off already.”

Charon turned to the voice like he had turned towards Styx’s call – unquestioningly and without hesitation.

“ _The house has changed a lot._ ” was all he said.

“Has it?” Hermes asked, drawing closer, his six wings beating as he started to draw familiar and playful circles around Charon.

The Stygian Boatman simply inclined his head mutely, stretching the fingers of his right hand out a little so they would occasionally brush against Hermes’ circling from in the same way Hermes was brushing against his robes.

“Party not to your liking?”

A puff of amused smoke “ _No._ ”

“So you decided to tour the house a bit and then what, go back to your ferry and wait for everyone to be done in there?”

Another mute nod.

“You know, that could take a long time, any feast Dionysus is invited to lasts at the very least two days.”

“ _I can be patient._ ”

Hermes chuckled at that “Oh, I don't doubt that at all my dearest professional associate but I think just standing around out there would become boring rather quickly, I already mentioned that the old family in the lounge won’t be done anytime soon, so why not do something more interesting for a while, I mean, you don't have to stand vigil at your boat at _**all**_ times.”

Charon tilted his head slightly – if he would have been able to he might have raised a brow. It was clear to him that Hermes had something in mind and he was equal parts curious as well as cautious. He trusted the other god, yes, but Hermes was a trickster too, so who knew what was going on in that bright head of his.

The god of swiftness just laughed “Don’t look at me like that.” he grinned. He flew a little higher then, still drawing his circles and Charon nearly unconsciously adjusted his right arm, raising it higher too so his fingers could still brush against Hermes every few circles.

Hermes’ grin suddenly widened and he flew higher still – out of Charon's immediate reach. He stretched his left hand out though – an offer and a challenge both. Glowing purple fixed on the proffered hand. For a second everything was still and then Charon let go of his oar – it continued to float a little above ground – and raised himself up into a float, his right hand reaching – indulging whatever the other god had planned.

Yet, just before their hands could connect Hermes darted farther back, fingers curled and beckoning, grin turning a little sly. Charon cocked his head slightly, yet he still followed. The god of swiftness drew a half circle and Charon mimicked the movement. Wings beat to fly a little lower and again the Stygian Boatman followed.

It was a little like a chase at this point wasn't it? How strange, Charon thought. Hermes could outpace him easily if he wanted to – they both knew that – yet the god of swiftness stayed close – always just barely out of reach.

They circled around each other in the air and Charon quickly noticed that the moment he himself drew back ‘too far’ Hermes trailed after him as well. It morphed into a playful push and pull between them. Not so much a mimic and follow but instead a mirror of movement.

A few puffs of smoke rose as Charon laughed in his own way and Hermes answered it with a chuckle. He flew higher again, doing a slow loop until his front was facing the ground and again Charon mirrored him until they were face to face again with Charon's back to the pool below them.

The god of swiftness let himself fall down a little and the ferryman moved too until their position was reversed – still face to face but now Charon was looking down while Hermes had his back to the ground.

Below them Charon could see their reflection in the calm surface of Styx, how they were weaving around one another playfully and with startling synchronicity. In the distance he could still pick up the music that wafted down the hall. All in all it was a little as if… as if they were dancing.

For a second his smoke stuttered at that particular realization. He floated higher, his knees slightly drawing up and Hermes followed easily, as if he was pulled by a thread, his brown eyes sparkling – warm and utterly fond. He was always at his most gorgeous when he was happy.

Charon stretched both his hands out then, palms facing upwards – an offer and a question both. Hermes took him up on it nearly immediately – as if he hadn't even needed to think twice about it – two warm hands pressing themselves against Charon's without hesitation. 

Bony fingers moved, curling gently. The easy trust with which Hermes had let himself be ‘caught’ made something strange twist in Charon's chest, it rattled between his ribs, sharp and warm and borderline painful.

He floated backwards and then drew a slow circle – trying to catch the rhythm of the muffled music. Hermes followed, drawing closer as he did so, leaving only a small bit of space between them – his grin had by now softened. He moved his hands in the same way Styx liked to do and a second later their fingers interlaced.

“You know,” Hermes suddenly spoke up “I'm glad everything worked out.” his voice was serious, it held a strange weightiness that Charon wasn't used to hearing from the other god, nearly a little like a confession “I was nervous that it wouldn't.”

Charon gave a warm, reassuring groan and squeezed the hands in his “ _I know._ ”

A soft, fond snicker “I know you know.” Hermes started moving his thumbs then, brushing them against the side of Charon's hands. He drew closer still until he was able to rest his forehead against Charon's, two brown eyes honing in on one glowing purple one “Thanks for not pointing it out before.” he added in a low murmur.

The only answer to that was a wordless yet agreeable groan and a thin curtain of smoke that brushed past Hermes’ face as it rose upwards. Hermes closed his eyes, the last bit of tension bleeding away now that everything was said and done. Charon moved his head a little, nearly nuzzling against the other god. It made Hermes sigh, clearly content – the warm air displaced Charon's ever-billowing mist a little.

It was quiet after that, their circling slowing to what could be described as a mid-air sway, their movement loosely based on the rhythm of the distant music.

…

_Yet, unbeknownst to the two gods, who were so caught up in their intimate airborne dance that they neglected to take notice of their surrounding, young prince Zagreus, with his unfortunate habit of eavesdropping, was watching them from afar with a happy smile on his face._

“Oh blood and darkness, old man! Can’t you shut up for once? I really don't want to draw their attention and get into a fight with Charon right now.”

**Author's Note:**

> For weeks now I’ve had this mental image of Charon and Hermes ‘dancing’ by circling and floating around each other in mind-air (kinda like that one space scene in Wall-E). And no matter what, the idea just wouldn't stop haunting me, so this fic here is just me getting all of that out of my system. Anyway, this here isn't anything special. It’s mostly character study and fluff and relationship development. It’s meant to be a more elaborated epilogue for my other fic but it can also be read as a stand alone, no prior knowledge needed.
> 
> For everyone still down here: Thanks a lot for reading <3 comments are always appreciated. And I hope all of you are having a lovely day.


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